


Kiss Me Slowly

by dementorsatemysoup



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Attempt at Humor, Awkward Daryl, Fluff and Angst, Kisses, M/M, slight AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-24
Updated: 2015-02-24
Packaged: 2018-03-14 19:23:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,203
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3422720
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dementorsatemysoup/pseuds/dementorsatemysoup
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Daryl has had six significant kisses in his lifetime, three of which have been shared with Rick Grimes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Kiss Me Slowly

**Author's Note:**

> Hey, look, another AU... I am so sorry.
> 
> Thanks for reading.
> 
> Bye!!

**One**

Daryl's ten when Penny Miller comes up to him on the playground. She wrinkles her nose, taking in his ratty t-shirt and ripped jeans, brushes invisible lint off her purple dress, and says, "Amber wanted me to tell you she likes you."

"What?" He's a little confused because a) Amber told him last week that he smelled like feet and b) while he's certain he doesn't smell like feet (or at least he thinks he doesn't) he's pretty sure a girl who  _thinks_ he smells like feet one week is not going to decide she likes him the next. He's ten, but even he knows it doesn't logically make sense, so he asks, "Are you sure?"

Penny huffs, rolling her eyes. "It's what she said. She's over by the monkey bars." She points out a pigtailed girl wearing red overalls and a yellow shirt, standing a good twenty feet away, before turning back to Daryl. Her lips curls into a sneer and she says, "I think she can do better."

"Well, lucky nobody asked your opinion," Daryl retorts and stalks away from Penny, ignoring the scoff that follows him. Merle's always said he's a bit of a smartass, but Penny Miller is kind of a bitch (and her mama ain't any better) and deserves worse than a snarky comment. He heads towards Amber, squinting at her. She's not very pretty (of course Merle's called him 'uglier than shit on a pig' on more than one occasion so he's pretty certain he can't exactly judge someone on their looks), but she has pretty green eyes and a crooked smile and he figures he could do worse.

"Hey Daryl," she drawls when he's within hearing distance.

"Amber," he greets tipping his head, suddenly nervous. What exactly did she want from him? He's never had anyone, much less a girl, like him, and the few crushes he's had over the years were mostly TV show characters so he never fooled himself into thinking he'd ever being in a situation like this. "Um, Penny says you like me," he blurts silently cursing himself. He's pretty sure you're supposed to work your way up to something like that, flirt or some shit, but he's never been the most loquacious person so he really shouldn't be surprised.

Amber giggles, nodding her head, her pigtails swishing back and forth. "Of course I do, silly."

"Okay."

She must take his 'okay' as consent because she leans forward, pressing her lips to his, and Daryl's eyes widen. When Amber pulls away, her cheeks pink, Daryl does the only thing he can think of; he pushes her down and runs all the way home.

Amber doesn't speak to him for damn near ten years.

* * *

**Two**

Daryl's been impaled, shot, nearly bitten, and is exhausted beyond measure, but he dares not sleep. Not yet. He's convinced if he closes his eyes, he'll dream of his brother again. He'll dream of a gruff voice calling him every name under the sun, telling him he isn't good enough, that the only use he's ever been to anyone is becoming Rick Grimes' bitch. He ain't nobody's bitch, much less Grimes', and, real of not, Merle can shut the fuck up.

He hears the door open, expecting to see Hershel or Rick, but he's surprised to see Carol. He turns his back on her, pulling his sheet tighter around him, not wanting to hear whatever she has to say, but she surprises him by crossing the room and gently kissing his forehead. She leaves a moment later, and he watches her go, feeling a little conflicted. Never, in his thirty-plus years, has anyone ever done  _that_ to him. His mother had been too busy drinking or picking up truckers to give him any attention, and his father; he doesn't want to think about his father. Every time his memory drifts to Will Dixon, the old scars on his back twinge, and Daryl'd rather avoid the phantom pain; even if it's for one night.

So he thinks about the kiss, wonders what Carol meant by it. Clearly, it had been a thank you. He had gotten hurt searching for her daughter; for Sophia, but he feels like it's more than that somehow. Maybe. He doesn't even know why he cares.

Squeezing his eyes shut, he decides he'd much rather sleep than deal with any of this shit, and he drifts off to the feeling of warm lips on his forehead and the notion that maybe he doesn't have to despise everyone in this stupid group.

* * *

**Three**

Daryl's never done the whole 'crush' thing. Growing up, he never particularly  _liked_  anyone well enough to call them a friend, much less fantasize what it'd be like to kiss them, and after he dropped out of school, he didn't spend too much time socializing with people. He liked his solitude, liked being by himself, didn't need anyone but Merle (even though sometimes he didn't even  _want_ his brother around). Then the apocalypse happened, he met Rick, Carol, and the others, and now he not only has friends but he has a massive crush, on Rick Grimes.

He hates it.

When it first happens, it doesn't quite register to him what's going on. His eyes would stray a moment too long on the other man, he'd be constantly within touching distance, would volunteer to go on runs with him to, not only have his back, but to keep an eye on him. He had this constant  _need_ to be around Rick, and by the time he realizes what's happening, he's already in  _way_ too deep to stop it.

Naturally, Daryl tries to ignore these newfound feelings. He's not  _that_ way. At least, he doesn't think he is; he doesn't have the greatest track record when it comes to romance, so he could be, but he's  _not,_ okay. He's not. It's not possible. That doesn't stop his thoughts from straying during quiet moments. Doesn't stop him from waking from a fitful sleep covered in sweat, half-hard, breathing too heavily, with a certain man's name on his lips.

A horde brings new light to this crush. He and Rick kill as many as they can before holing up in an old hunting cabin, the latter barricading the door while the former stands on his toes so he can peek out of the dirty window situated high enough on the wall to keep the walkers out (for the time being). One of _them_  paces across the dilapidated porch, its eyes zeroing in on Daryl, and he ducks down before it can see him, leaning against the wall.

"We're gonna be stuck here 'while," Daryl murmurs and Rick nods, slowly backing away from the door. He doesn't look satisfied with his handiwork, but the cabin is pretty bare and there's only so much he can do. If they're gonna get in, they're gonna get in and there's nothing Rick and Daryl can do about it.

Daryl sinks to the floor, putting his crossbow next to him, and pulls one leg up, resting his elbow on it. He watches as Rick paces back and forth, his eyes darting to the door, and he wonders if this is what he looks when he's cornered. Carol once told him he's like a caged animal when he's cooped up somewhere for too long, it's possible he's worse.

"Would ya sit down," Daryl demands when Rick does another sweep across the cabin floor. "Damn near makin' me nervous, the way you're pacin' like that." Rick stops, glancing down at the archer, an unreadable look on his face. He's quiet for a moment, shifting restlessly, and for a brief second Daryl actually thinks he's going to continue pacing, but he surprises the hunter by crossing the room and settling down next to him, resting his hands in his lap, his fingers twitching against his thighs with nervous energy.

Silence settles over the room, a long, tense silence that has Daryl fidgeting a little bit, but Rick breaks it after a bit with a quiet: "I'm sorry."

"What for?"

Rick's quiet for another few seconds before sighing and saying, "I insisted we get away from camp for a while." He shrugs, picking at a hole in his jeans. "Wouldn't be in this mess if I could just handle my shit," he adds, under his breath, not expecting Daryl to hear him.

The archer does, and he feels irritation settle in his chest. He huffs and grunts, "It ain't my business, but Lori shouldn't have taken Walsh's word for it. About you being dead. Should had made sure herself or somethin'." Daryl shrugs, chewing on his thumbnail. "'s what I woulda done," he adds under his breath, shrugging his shoulders. He sneaks a peek over at the other man, trying to gauge his reaction, but Rick's face is perfectly blank. He looks away quickly, gnawing on his bottom lip, feeling like he overstepped his boundaries. And he probably did. For someone who hates talking to people, Daryl sure doesn't know when to shut up sometimes.

He feels something warm press into his shoulder, startling him, and he glances over to see Rick's face buried in his shirt sleeve. He feels lips press into his arm and a soft, muffled voice say, "I bet you would." Rick looks up, a faint smile on his face, and Daryl feels his stomach drop. It's that moment he realizes he doesn't have a crush on Rick.

He's in love with him.

* * *

** Four **

Judith likes giving kisses. She picked up the habit from Beth, her chubby, toddler legs tottering as she stumbles towards someone, demanding to be picked up. Whenever she's obeyed, she leans in and gives whoever is holding her a slobbery, open-mouthed kiss on their cheek. It's a bit like getting kissed by a dog, but afterward she'll always giggle and say, "Got you."

Thus far, Daryl hasn't received one of these kisses. He holds Judith plenty, the entire group jokes that he's her favorite, but she's usually asleep when he gathers her into his arms, rocking her back and forth gently, muttering the words to some stupid nursery rhyme he had heard Beth singing. Anything to keep her asleep; to keep her from seeing how fucked up the world has become. Even for a little while.

It's the day before her third birthday, Daryl secretly keeping track, and she's running away from Carl, laughing when he yells, "I'm gonna getcha, Jude!"

"Nu-huh," she shouts back, speeding up, laughing harder.

"Carl, be careful," Rick calls from the base of the trees, his arms crossed, his sharp eyes looking for any walkers. Daryl's doing the same, a little ways from the ex-lawman, but his eyes keep darting to Judith and Carl. They hadn't had a lot of opportunities to  _just_ be kids, and he doesn't think he can deprive them of this. One glance at Rick tells him that the other man feels the same way.

"Daryl sab me," Judith calls and runs into his legs, clutching tightly to his jeans.

He scoops her up, throwing her over his shoulder, grinning when he feels her giggling against him, and says, "Now I gotcha."

"Noooo," she exclaims squirming a little bit, giggling harder. She manages to maneuver around, her face inches from his cheek, and she presses her lips to the side of his face. "Got you!"

"Yeah, kid, ya did," he grumbles putting her back on the ground.

She races around his legs for a moment before darting off after Carl, yelling, "I's gonna get you now!"

Daryl rubs at his cheek, shaking his head, and he feels someone watching him. He turns towards the gaze, locking eyes with Rick, and he feels himself flush. He quickly breaks eye contact, kicking at a stick, but he can still feel Rick looking at him, his heart speeding up.

Finally, he grunts, "Should head back now." He then stalks away, rolling his shoulders, ignoring the heat from the gaze that seems to be drilling into his back, forcing himself to keeping going, knowing he can't turn around now.

It's a miracle he manages it.

* * *

**Five**

Maggie finds a couple bottle of cheap wine hidden in an attic, and Glenn suggests they open them in celebration of surviving another year. He means it to be a happy occasion, but they still have a sobering moment when they reflect on all the people they've lost over the years. When the moment passes, Glenn hands out cups of wine and they all take a drink.

Daryl notices that Rick declines another glass, leaving his chipped mug sitting on the table, carefully sitting on an unsteady bench. Judith crawls into his lap, leaning her head against his chest, and Rick wraps his arms around her, resting his chin on top of her head. Daryl kind of wishes he could do the same thing, but immediately stomps on the thought and motions for Glenn to refill his glass.

He doesn't get plastered, he can be downright violent with too much alcohol in his system, but he does get pleasantly tipsy. Just enough liquid courage to do what he's been wanting to do for a while. He staggers down the hallway, keeping his hand on the wall for balance, sliding it across the cold stone. He stops outside of Rick's cell, his hand hovering over the curtain. With a hiccup, he pulls it to the side and slips inside.

"Hey," Rick says looking up from a book, having excused himself from the celebration when Judith started dozing off in his lap. She's asleep at the foot of his bed, curled up under a blanket, her thumb in her mouth. "What's up? You run out of alcohol?"

"Nah," Daryl answers shaking his head, crossing his arms, resting his shoulder against the wall, trying to look cool but most likely achieving an awkward lean. "Michonne was opening another bottle when I left."

"Ah." Rick closes his book, putting it next to him, and gets to his feet. "You look like you're about to fall down," he says softly, amusement evident in his eyes. "I think maybe you should go lie down."

"I should," Daryl agrees nodding his head, but he makes no move to actually leave.

"You're not leaving," Rick points out, smirking.

"I am not," Daryl answers taking a step towards the other man.

"You need me to escort you back to your cell?"

"Perhaps officer, I seem to have forgotten where I live." He staggers forward another step, clumsily reaching out for Rick's face, and presses his lips to the other man's in a clumsy kiss. It's messy, uncoordinated, and he's pretty sure he's mostly kissing the side of Rick's face. When he realizes the other man isn't returning his sentiments, he pulls back, his face red hot, and mutters, "Shit."

"You're drunk," Rick murmurs his warm breath puffing against Daryl's cheek.

The archer nods, releasing the ex-lawman's face, and turns to leave, ignoring Rick when he tries to call him back. He's made an ass out of himself, he'd much rather go lick his wounds in private than sit here another moment, drowning in humiliation.

* * *

**Six**

Daryl decides to pretend the kiss never happened. He gets up the next morning with a slight headache, shoves his feet into his boots, and staggers out of his cell. He stops by the bathroom to take a piss, greets Maggie when he passes her in the hallway, and walks into the kitchen, sitting across from Rick like he always does. He offers the other man a pale smile, accepting the coffee mug Carol hands him, and glances over at Maggie when she enters the kitchen, asking, "I take it we ain't seein' Glenn today."

"Are you kidding?" she states with an amused smile. "We might not see him all week." Daryl chuckles, taking a sip of his coffee, ignoring the eyes that are drilling into the side of his head.

After breakfast, he heads outside to relieve Tyreese from watch, figuring he can pretend nothing happened a lot easier up here in the guard tower. He settles against the wall, picking up the whittling knife and the piece of wood Sasha keeps up here, and begins carving (what he hopes is) a tiny horse for Judith. He's never been very good at whittling, Merle always a bit better, but he figures it can't be  _that_ hard. He doubts he'll ever be at his brother or Sasha's level, but he can figure out how to make a horse.

"Hey," a voice says, startling him, and he slices his fingers with the edge of the knife.

"Fuck," he hisses dropping the knife and wood, yanking his handkerchief out of his pocket, wrapping it around his bleeding appendages.

"Shit, sorry." Rick crosses the room quickly, kneeling down next to Daryl, taking his fingers between his hands. He ignores the grumbles coming from the archer, applying pressure to the wounds. "My daddy used to whittle, had so many scars on his hands it's any wonder he never lost a finger." After a bit, he unravels the bloody cloth, checking Daryl's cuts. "Ain't so bad, won't even need stitches."

Rick releases Daryl's hand, sitting back on his heels, running a hand through his hair. For a while, neither man says a word, but finally Rick huffs and asks, "Are we gonna talk about it?"

"About what?" Daryl grunts looking down at his fingers, watching small drops of blood bubbling up from his cuts. "Ain't nothin' to talk about."

"Daryl."

"What?"

"Look at me."

He huffs, shaking his head, and says, "Rather not."

"Please."

Finally, Daryl looks up and grumbles, "Happy?"

Rick snorts, rolling his eyes, and says, "Ecstatic." He ruffles his hair again, his lip turning up in a gentle smile, and softly asks, "You do know why I stopped you last night, right?" Daryl shrugs, chewing on his thumb nail. Rick reaches out, pulling the archer's hand away from his mouth, and says, "I need you to understand why I did it. It's not 'cause I don't want to, I do, it's..."

"What?" Daryl's eyebrows furrow, confusion and elation no doubt flashing across his face.

"You were drunk," Rick whispers releases the archer's wrist, resting his hand against Daryl's face, his thumb stroking his cheek. "I had to make sure you meant it, before we did anything."

"I-I do," he says hoarsely, holding back a shudder at the feeling of Rick's warm hand against his skin. He clears his throat, his eyes flickering towards the other man's lips, and whispers, "I do."

"I do, too." Rick brings his other hand up, cradling the archer's face between his palms, and leans forward, gently kissing him. Daryl wraps his uninjured fingers around Rick's hip, resting his other hand against the side of his neck, and leans into the kiss. It's not very long, but it's a hell of a lot better than the one last night.

When they break apart, Rick keeps Daryl's face between his hands, resting his forehead against the archer's, and murmurs, "That how you imagines it, Dixon?"

Daryl laughs softly, leaning in for another kiss, softly replying, "Nah, it's better."

**Author's Note:**

> Ugh, I am literal Rickyl trash... don't even look at me. I probably missed an actual, important, canon kiss, and if I did let me know so I can hang my head in shame. Also, I'm sorry I keep writing Rick x Daryl stories, but I'm also not sorry. So yeah.
> 
> And I don't know why I keep putting them in the prison. I know the prison was so two seasons ago, and they're heading to Alexandria now (or are they there, I haven't been keeping up with the series), but oh well. I've never really liked following canon anyway.
> 
> Once again, thanks for reading.


End file.
